CHAPTER 1

My life was never perfect, but it was always interesting. 

My parents separated when I was eight and being an only child, I was passed back and forth between my parents. 

Weekends were often spent with my dad, unless he had a gig that would spill over to a weekday; mom never let me miss school. Otherwise, I'd be tagging along to his shindigs, usually sleeping in his cramped station wagon or on some makeshift bed in a corner of the pub where he was performing. 

My dad was a drummer and a darn good one at that, which makes me wonder why I'm bereft of any musical inclinations. Music, to me, is like Latin; nice on the ears, but too difficult to learn. But don't get me wrong, I love music! I just don't have the aptitude for it. Guess I'm more of a spectator than a performer. 

Dad might not have been a good husband to my mom, but he was a good father to me; whenever he's around anyway. He would've spoiled me rotten if not for my disciplinarian mother. Dad always let me go to sleep late, watch TV all day long, eat junk food, run around in the rain and even roll in the mud once in a while. He never raised his voice to me and always gave in to my whims. 

Looking back, it was probably because he did not want what little time we had together to be marred by bad memories. He was a happy-go-lucky guy who hated party-poopers, which was probably why he and mom never got along. My mom was the biggest party-pooper I ever had the pleasure of knowing!  

All in all, I loved my dad to bits. I love my mom, too. It's just that my time with dad was filled with rainbows and sunshine while time with mom was punctuated by time-outs, lots of scolding, and later on, by screaming sessions and long stretches of being grounded at home for the slightest misdemeanor. 

As I've said, mom was a disciplinarian par  excellence. She was a stickler for rules while I was a breaker of rules, so our conflict wasn't any cause for surprise. I took after my dad. 

And because mom didn't want me to end up like dad, she tried hard to squelch my independent spirit. 

Now, mom did not hate dad right at the off. There was a time when she nearly worshiped him. She was his most devoted fan, the one who followed him everywhere, took pictures of him and pasted them on her bedroom walls. She practically dogged his every step and it was a dream-come-true for mom when dad finally noticed her and eventually fell in-love with her. 

It's funny how they seemed made for each other; in the beginning, at least. Dad was the dreamer and mom was the practical one. And no matter how tight money was, they always managed to stay afloat. Thanks to mom's brilliant mind and business acumen. But in hindsight, that's also what destroyed their marriage. 

Time came when dad's band fell on hard times and mom had to pick up the slack. In a few years' time, mom was earning more than dad was and her rose-colored glasses started to crack, making her see dad in a different light – as a failure. 

The occasional fights became a daily occurrence and not a day went by when either one stormed out of the house. Dad started staying out late. Then he would be gone for days, weeks, months. 

Finally, after a most vicious fight, dad packed up his stuff and left for good, right after mom had her first major fashion show. 

By the time I turned 14, my mom was was the owner of the biggest clothing line in the country. Quite cool, especially for a growing teenager like me. I always had the latest in fashion and my schoolmates literally monitored and mimicked my constantly evolving wardrobe. 

I was a fashion icon! Up until college, that is. 

By then, my clashes with mom extended to my fashion sense. I dressed horribly, just to spite her. When miniskirts were in fashion, I wore calf-length skirts. When loose pants were in, I wore skin-tight jeans. And when long, straight, re-bonded hair was the rage, I had mine spiked and colored purple. 

Anything, just as long as it's outrageous and sure to drive my mom crazy. 

It was my way of rebelling against her since I could not really butt heads with her; my future rested entirely on her benevolence. Dad, by that time, no longer had a band and had resorted to playing as back-up for different artists, so he didn't have any regular income; not nearly enough to support himself. 

But mom was not really such a hard-case. She still cared deeply for him in spite of their separation and their never-ending battles. She never stopped helping dad out, even financially. Dad was just too proud to ask for it. 

This annoyed mom to no end, making her prattle about how dad was too proud for his own good and that his pride would be his ultimate ruination, etc., etc. (Mom could go on forever at times, especially when dad was the subject). 

I took up Fine Arts in college (again, to spite my mother). She preferred business administration or accounting, but I had learned early on that numbers made my brain hibernate so I avoided them as much as I could. 

Plus, I'd always had an artistic streak in me. I've been drawing for as long as I could remember. Mom even told me once that I'd already been drawing flowers, animals and people long before I could recognize letters or numbers.

So, after a two-year battle, she finally accepted the fact that she would have to hold the reins of the company far longer than planned. 

Through my college years, I continued going to my dad's shows. I loved the out-of-town ones best because they also satisfied the wanderlust in my blood. It was one of those things that mom and dad never really agreed on. 

Mom was content in staying put in the city, mainly because of her business empire, but dad and I craved new surroundings every now and then. Even when dad did not have any out-of-town shows we would still go to nearby provinces just to break the monotony of our everyday routines. 

One thing I hated about my time with dad was the endless parade of nameless, mindless girls that fall all over themselves wherever we went. Women seemed to keel over when exposed to my dad's presence. 

To say that my dad was handsome would be an understatement. He was drop-dead gorgeous, period. Tall, lithely built, with expressive eyes and a soft, crooning voice that could melt even the most hardened amazon. He was a real heart-breaker. 

Too bad I did not take after him. In looks, at least. I'd never been described as ugly, but I'd never been praised for my physical traits either; especially when I'm standing beside my dad. People actually often asked if we're related. The only physical attribute that my dad passed on to me were my dimples. 

With mom, no one ever questioned my parentage. I'm not really her spitting image. I'm more of a watered-down version of her. A bit sad, actually, since my mom was, though not what one would call 'commercially-beautiful', quite striking herself. Her dark-brown, naturally straight hair, always worn just above her jawline, dramatically framed an arresting face; one that wasn't too feminine but not a bit masculine either. She was a classic and ageless beauty. 

Mom emanated strength and intelligence. While I was all vulnerability and uncertainty. I was quite a klutz during my teen years. I was gawky, clumsy, and graceless Jennina. But, I got away with all that only simply because I was the daughter of the enviable Marita Imperial - fashion guru and socialite. Everyone thought my outlandish outfits and actions were due to my artistic eccentricity. No one thought that I was simply clueless.

Then, Life decided to throw me another curveball just before graduating college. My dad went to Baguio for the coming-out concert of the band he was managing and I was unable to go because I was preparing for my finals. It was just about midnight, while I was putting the finishing touches on one of my finals projects when my mom burst into my bedroom.

I hardly ever saw my mom cry, but she was practically howling when she wordlessly threw herself at me. It did not take long for me to crumple down on the floor and cry my heart out, too. I felt her pain because there's only one reason that could destroy my mother like this.

Dad was gone.

And just like that, I knew. Nothing would ever be the same again. 

I would never be the same...